


so much like stars

by oopsabird



Category: DCU, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Diana/Steve Trevor (mentioned), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, I really went to town with the prose and references here, Light Angst, M/M, Mid-Canon, Missing Scene, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pining, Undressing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, probably some UST too but it's subtle I think, sober Charlie, the result of watching the "evening in Veld" scene way too many times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: Sameer gets Charlie back from the drink - and all that which comes with him, too.or;How the rest of the team spent that night in the village.





	so much like stars

**Author's Note:**

> every single time I say "I'll just write this down to get it out of my head" I end up spending three days ignoring my life to crank out 5000-6000 words of fic on the matter, dammit
> 
> I've more or less been waiting for this fic concept to exist since I saw the movie last june, and have at this point given in and simply done it myself. apologies to Chief for my relegating him to third wheel - it happens to the best of us, my dude. hoping to give him some better supporting scenes in future fics of mine down the road. also just a heads up that the Steve/Diana is only referenced, they’re not actually “on screen” in this one
> 
> the title is from a piece of [this poem by Mary Oliver](http://sacredtremor.com/blog/snowy-night-mary-oliver), which I felt was well-suited. the (period-appropriate) song that's playing in the beginning can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18p9XBxUvdI) \- it's written as a promise to a departing soldier that after the war, he will see Paris again
> 
> eternal shoutout to the ever-patient elri, proof-reader and confidant supreme

* * *

_"The most confused you will ever get is when you try to convince your heart and spirit of something your mind knows is a lie."_  
_-Shannon L. Alder_

* * *

  _So this is what boundless joy looks like,_  Sameer thought, leaning back upon the bar to take in the scene around him,  _I had nearly forgotten such a thing could exist._

It was getting quite late, and the Café Buvette was slowly draining of patrons - yet somehow the atmosphere of celebration had not dwindled at all. There were still over a dozen villagers milling about; talking, laughing, some of them even singing drunkenly along as Suzanne Valroger crooned to them all from the phonograph in the corner. 

With its warm light and cheerful patrons, the place carried a wholly different feeling from the dim, sullen wartime bars of London which Sami had grown so used to as of late - but then, having one’s village freed from occupation and enslavement  _would_  bring about a different sort of attitude, wouldn’t it? It was absolutely infectious, and he smiled to himself as he drummed his fingers on the bar top to the cheery tune of the song.

 _Tu le r'verras Paname, Paname, Paname_  
_La tour Eiffel, la Place Blanche, Notre-Dame_  
_Les boul'vards et les belles dames_  
_Tu le r'verras Paname, Paname, Paname_  
_Le métro, le bistro_  
_Où tu prenais l'apéro_  
_Après l' boulot_  
_Comme c'est loin tout ça_  
_Mais tu l'reverras_  
_À Paname!_

Paname; Paris. It had been a while since Sami had seen the City of Light, and now with this song he found himself feeling wistful for it. Not homesick, mind you - Paris had never been home, but it had been very nice, and a good deal more fun than dreary old London. Perhaps that was where he would go next, if the war ever bothered to end - off to see Paris once more, to try his luck in the theatres there.

Sami spotted the barkeep he had been waiting for, returning to his counter after delivering a tray of drinks into the crowd. He raised a hand to flag him down.

“Excusez-moi monsieur!” he beamed genially at the man, and continued on in French,  _< I would like to order another beer, s’il vous plait. And pay up my tab too, since this will be my last drink of the night.>_

The barkeep nodded, taking a glass from his shelf and filling it from the keg behind him. He slid it smoothly across the countertop into Sami’s hand, not spilling so much as a drop.

“Merci beaucoup,” Sami said with a smile, reaching into his pocket for the rumpled envelope containing his portion of their funds from Sir Patrick.  _< I’m afraid I only have British money, but you should be able to get it exchanged in the city once the roads clear up.>_ He shrugged apologetically. _ <Now, how many drinks was it... three for my friends, then two for me- >_

The barkeep cut him off with a wave of his hand, shaking his balding head.

 _ <Heroes don’t pay for their drinks at my bar, mon ami.>_ He smiled, his thick moustache twitching. _ <You and your friends can keep your money.>_

Sami blinked rapidly, taken aback. He could feel his face heating up a bit, despite himself.  _Heroes? Really?_

 _ <Are you certain, monsieur?>_ He said hesitantly.  _< Five beers is a lot of product to give out for free...>_

The barkeep shook his head again, deadly serious.

 _ <You have all earned that much ten times over.>_ He nodded to the glass in Sami’s hand.  _< Please, go on and enjoy your drink.>_

“Merci monsieur, merci beaucoup.” Sami nodded his thanks, tipping his fez to the man, and turned away with his beer.

 _Heroes,_  he mused, as he wound his way through the little crowd towards the row of booths on the back wall, _we shoot up their town, destroy their church... and still they call us heroes._  Sami smiled faintly, mulling the word over in his mouth. He had used many names and been called many things in the course of his life, but ‘hero’ was a new one for him - he rather liked the sound of it.

Sidestepping an elderly couple who suddenly decided to get up and dance together right there in the cafe, he finally arrived back at the booth. Charlie and Chief still sat across from each other where he’d left them, engaged in some sort of discussion over a half-finished beer and a tin mug of tea. Sami doffed his fez, placing it on the table along with his drink; he slid onto the bench next to Charlie, who glanced briefly at him with a small smile of greeting before turning his attention back to Chief.

“So you really do think they’re going to go for it?” Chief was saying, listening intently with both forearms braced against the table, leaning forward to hear Charlie over the din.

 _“_ Aye,”Charlie nodded solemnly. “Based on what Steve said ‘bout things in the War Room an’ Parliament, I don’t think British High Command sees any other way out. It’s the government that still needs talking ‘round to an armistice, but even they may hafta face sense soon. Bloody war’s dragged on long enough.”

“Cheers to that,” Chief said, clinking his glass against Charlie’s mug. He turned to Sami, “Charlie has just been telling me how the war may be going to really end soon, and put me out of a job.”

“My condolences,” Sami said, nodding. “Well, you are always welcome to come back to London with us, when this little adventure is over.”

“I may take you up on that,” Chief said, leaning back to stroke his chin in consideration. “What do you two even do between missions in London, these days?”

“Sit around in unpleasant pubs and wait for something interesting to happen, mostly,” Sami smirked, shrugging. “You know, things like Steve coming back from the dead, and bringing with him a beautiful and mysterious woman who can flip a tank with her bare hands. That sort of thing.” Chief chuckled.

“Hey, where did Steve and Diana get to, anyway?” Charlie said, craning around Sami to look about the cafe. “Feel like I haven’t seen them for a while now.”

“ _I_  saw them heading to the inn together, almost an hour ago,” Chief said, leaning back and folding his arms.

“Aaah,” Sami grinned smugly with a snap of his fingers, “there you have it, the lovebirds have finally flown the coop!”

“Wait a minute,” Charlie said, holding up a hand, “you don’t think they’ve gone to-” Chief nodded solemnly, and Charlie crossed his own arms, shaking his head vehemently. “Nah, no way! I don’t believe it.”

“Ah, but Charlie,  _you_  did not see them when they were dancing together,” Sami said, then coughed a little to clear the wistful romantic tone from his voice. “Besides, you just don’t want Chief to be right because then you’ll owe me five shillings.” He nudged Charlie playfully with his elbow, and received a light kick to the ankle in return that had him chuckling into his beer.

“It’s a stupid bet,” Charlie grumbled, pouting. “I mean, it’s not like you’ll even be able to prove if it happened!”

Chief nodded, raising his eyebrows at Sami to concede Charlie’s point.

“Pssh,” Sami waved off their skepticism, “come on, you have both met Steve, ya? You know that dopey lovestruck look he gets on his face, any morning after a date goes really, really well? Yeah, yeah I know you know the one! Well,” Sami slapped his palm on the table, “ _that_  is how you prove it! And that’s how I will win.” He leaned back in the booth, smiling triumphantly behind the rim of his glass.

“Right, well,  _if_  you win,” Charlie said, taking a sip of his tea, “and I do mean  _if_  - you’re gonna hafta wait til we get back to London to have your five shillings, ‘cause I dinnae think these folks can make change for a pound. I tried to pay for my first cuppa earlier, and the barkeep just jabbered somethin’ in French and shooed me away!” He shrugged. “Suppose they don’t deal in English money.”

“Hmm...” Sami pursed his lips, thinking of his conversation at the bar just minutes ago, “perhaps... hold on, how did you even manage to order tea? You don’t speak French!” He stared at him in bewilderment.

Charlie grinned, raising an imaginary cup to his lips this time, pinky up. “You ever hear tell of a lil’ game called charades? Was invented by a young lad who lived just outside Glasgow-“

“Nice try Charlie, but charades  _is_  French - it is literally a French word!” Sami rolled his eyes. “I swear, you are the very worst liar on the entire face of the earth. This is why you always lose at poker!” He sighed; Charlie’s abysmal lying skills were not from a lack of effort on Sami’s part to teach him.

“That’s not true!” Charlie exclaimed indignantly. “Well, the poker part is, sure, but that’s not the point!” He waved it off. “I’ve got loads of secrets I’ve never told to a soul, not even to to you.”

“ _That_  I doubt very much.”

“So hold on a minute,” Chief said, raising a hand to cut in on their bickering, “go back. Why wasn’t  _I_  included in the bet?”

“Sorry mate,” Charlie said, stretching out one arm to rest along the top of the booth behind Sami’s back, his other arm propped on the table, “we made the bet back in London, before you joined us.”

“We can cut you in now, if you’d like.” Sami indulged his selfish side, leaning back against the warmth of Charlie’s arm as he spoke. This closeness was not necessarily unusual for them, and he knew Charlie wouldn’t mind. Small pleasures, and all that.

“No no, I see how it is,” Chief sighed with a dismissive wave, though there was a light in his eyes that said it was all in good jest, “I’m clearly the third wheel on this bicycle.”

“Do not worry mon ami - you can be our steering wheel!” Sami grinned, leaning forward to pat Chief’s arm consolingly, “Keep us pointed on the straight and narrow. Out of trouble!”

That broke Chief’s composure, and he chuckled into his beer.

“Us, out of trouble.  _That_ ’ll be the day,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes, draining the rest of the glass, and they all shared a round of laughter.

“Well boys,” Chief said when their mirth had died down, donning his hat from the seat beside him, “tomorrow looks like it’ll be a very long day. I’m going to go get some shut-eye; mind you two remember to do the same.” He wagged a finger at them both.

“Aye, yes mum,” Charlie muttered into his drink, rolling his eyes.

“I heard that.” Chief glared sternly as he rose from the booth. Charlie only chuckled, utterly unadmonished. “Goodnight, fellas. See you bright and early.”

“Goodnight Chief!” They chorused. He waved to them and turned away, returning the smiles of numerous villagers who greeted him as he made his way for the door.

“So,” Charlie said after a few moments, “you do know that bicycles dinnae have a steering wheel, right?” He smirked sidelong at Sami over the rim of his mug.

“I know that!” Sami admonished him with another elbow to the ribs; Charlie snickered, batting his arm away. Sami sat up straight and adopted a haughty edge to his voice, one tinged with a posh English accent. “I was merely mixing metaphors, you see. It is a  _very_  intellectual thing to do - they say it is the mark of  _true_  sophisticated genius.” He took a delicate sip from his beer with one pinky stuck out, not daring to look over at Charlie lest he break composure.

“Right...” Charlie narrowed his eyes, tone playfully suspicious, “and I don’t suppose ‘they’ would happen to just be shorthand for ‘one very tricky con-man named Sameer’, would it now?”

Sami shrugged, affecting an innocent expression with his eyes averted upwards, laughter barely contained.

“Perhaps,” he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

He couldn’t take it anymore - he chanced a glance over at Charlie’s reaction, and saw him red-faced with shoulders shaking, the smile hidden behind his hand betrayed by the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. Sami’s veneer of seriousness cracked; a chuckle bubbled forth, and Charlie’s own resolve shattered, exploding in peals of raucous laughter.

It felt so good to see him laugh like that again, and Sami’s joy at the sight fuelled his own laughter ever further, which drove Charlie’s on in turn, sending them both to the edge of glorious, euphoric hysteria.

As they drifted down from the high of amusement, still quaking with the last bouts, Charlie dropped his arm from the booth’s edge to clap Sami on the back as his other hand wiped at his eyes. It was then Sami truly noticed how close they were sitting on the little bench, and Charlie was making no moves to lift his arm from its place across Sami’s shoulders. Even through layers of clothing, Sami could feel the heat of Charlie’s touch like a burning brand upon his skin, and tried hard to push it from his mind, to not dwell upon it.

Then Charlie looked up to meet his gaze from just inches away, laughter still echoing bright in his eyes - Sami’s breath caught in his throat. Both of them froze, remnants of smiles fading from their faces as they stared at each other. Charlie’s tongue absently darted out to wet his lips, and Sami felt his own heart beginning to race, pounding so hard he was sure Charlie could feel it beneath the hand splayed over his shoulder blade.

He knew he should break away, that he couldn’t give in to this temptation; they were in public, for gods sake. Charlie didn’t want him that way, didn’t love him like that. What he wished for could never be. None of this was news to Sami. And yet...

He had always loved Charlie, through all that time when he was drunk and mournful, but this moment was a sudden reminder of all the reasons he had  _wanted_  him in the years before. In the past, Sami’s resolve had been much stronger, and he could’ve easily sat back and pushed away, pretended not to want and not to care. But it had been so long since he was made to hold out against Charlie laughing for joy, smiling at him, leaning in close without the miserable stench of whisky on his breath. He wasn’t immune anymore, and so this was like being hit by the full force of a hurricane - Sami was helpless, lost at sea.

His hand crept across the tabletop, fingertips just barely brushing the hem of Charlie’s sleeve. His eyes remained fixed upon Charlie’s mouth, and he could feel that inexorable pull of desire, dragging him further out to sea. It would be so  _easy_  to simply reach out for something to hold fast to in the storm...

For one treacherous moment, Sami’s heart won out over his mind, abandoning all rationale, and he leaned forward ever so slightly-

Someone at the next booth laughed suddenly and loudly, startling them both; it snapped Sami solidly back into reality, logic and reason slamming into him with a blow like a slap in the face. He sat back abruptly and tore his gaze away, Charlie’s arm shaken from his shoulders, and snatched up his beer to occupy his hands.

Charlie simply blinked at him, wide-eyed, seemingly unaware of what had just nearly happened. The moment was over.

“We should, um...” Sami stared into his near-empty glass, scouring it for words to say. His silver tongue had turned to lead in his mouth. “We should go to bed- go to sleep!” he amended hurriedly, a little jolt of panic in his veins. “It is getting quite late - we should go and get a place to sleep.”

 _This is fucking mortifying,_  he thought to himself, resisting the overwhelming urge to bury his head in his hands by finishing off his drink instead.  _You are a better liar than this. Get it together, Sameer._

Charlie raised one brow, eyeing him with concern. “Are you alright? You’re actin’ kinda strange all of a sudden.”

“Fine,” Sami squeaked hoarsely, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I am fine; I only just now am feeling quite tired, that is all.” That wasn’t entirely a lie; it had been a long day with quite a lot of walking and running, and he was beginning to feel it in his feet, in his bones. Retiring to sleep could do them both some good.

“Right then,” Charlie nodded in agreement, and knocked back the last of his lukewarm tea, “I’m feelin’ pretty worn down myself, now that you mention it. Don’t suppose you remember which of the buildings out there is the inn we’re headed to? I was still a wee bit out of it when Steve explained.”

Sami stood from the bench and put on his fez, stepping aside to let Charlie slide out and to retrieve their coats from where they hung by the seat.

“It’s that big grey building, just across the square. Can’t miss it.” It wouldn’t be a long enough walk to bother bundling up, so Sami simply draped his coats over one arm. He passed Charlie his things and waited patiently while he shrugged on his sweater and arranged his uniform cap upon his head.

“Alright,” Charlie said, tucking his jacket and cloak under one arm and gesturing towards the door. “Ready when you are.”

Sami smiled tightly, still struggling to shake the lingering awkwardness from before.

“Please, after you,” he let Charlie go ahead, winding his way between emptying tables to the door, which was now closed. Charlie swung it open and stepped out, and Sami followed him while lost in thought, focusing down to make sure the handle latched properly behind them. When he turned around to face the square, he couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath.

“Mon Dieu,” he whispered, taking in the scene with a growing smile, “now  _this_  is a masterpiece...”

All around them it was snowing, in great fat flakes nearly the size of his nose that drifted down from the heavens like feathers. They swirled in the glow from the streetlamps and the windows, and Sami felt as if he had stepped out of the café and straight into an impressionist painting. The air wasn’t all that cold, and so the flakes mostly melted upon contact with the ground, but he still felt the bite of a chill as one alighted on his upturned cheek, melting there until he wiped it away.

Sami had seen snow before, of course, but this was his first proper snowfall since the previous winter; and as happened every year he couldn’t help but be enchanted by the sight, revelling in it after half a lifetime with no such weather at all. There would be plenty of time through the rest of the winter to gripe and complain about the snow and the cold and the slush - this moment right here, this was a time for joy.

Charlie stood patiently by the fountain, looking up with a little smile and snow-feathers melting on his sweater as Sami descended the stairs and came bounding to his side.

“Look at it Charlie, isn’t it beautiful?” He laughed, the sound briefly visible as a soft white cloud in the air, and stretched out his free hand catch a few of whirling snowflakes on his open palm.

“Yeah,” Charlie murmured, something strange catching in his voice, “yeah, it is.”

When Sami turned, Charlie was gazing at him with that faint smile and an unreadable look in his eyes - something mournful, something longing; yet it was something happy, something rapturous too. They regarded each other for one crystalline instant in the midst of the blizzard, and then Charlie blinked and looked away, smile melting away to wistfulness as he raised his eyes to the snowy heavens once more.

 _Perhaps he is homesick,_  Sami mused, studying him,  _I suppose winters in Scotland must have looked something like this, in his youth._

“Come along Charlie,” he said quietly, pleasantly, placing a guiding hand on the centre of his back to gently urge him forward, “let’s get inside, before we catch our deaths out here.”

“Aye,” Charlie murmured, stepping off, “on we go, then.”

If he minded Sami’s hand lingering a few seconds longer than necessary, he never said it - in fact, he smiled at him, a little up-turn of the mouth and crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, the hints of sadness fading away.

And that might be enough, Sami decided, just maybe. With just this, only this, perhaps he could teach himself not to be selfish; he could learn once again to make do. He had lived four years in a war where all things good and sweet came at great cost and in limited supply - surely he could survive rationing this one too. Surely.

The blanket of snow wrapped them up in a comfortable, companionable silence for their short trek across the square, which felt in the enveloping quiet as if it must be the full extent of the known world. For a few minutes, there was no great war, nothing else beyond the brick walls that surrounded them - just two men, walking side by side through the gentle storm.

They arrived at the doors of the inn, and took a moment to brush the melting snow from their clothes under the shelter of its porch before Sami opened the door and lead the way inside.

The entry was a lamplit room of low ceilings and surprising size, with no windows at all but a number of still-life paintings lining the dark green walls; all the way back to where a grand wooden desk sat, at the intersection of two hallways on either side of it and a stairway leading up behind.

Behind the desk sat a sturdy-looking little old woman, who glanced up from the bookkeeping in front of her to peer forward through small, thick-lensed spectacles as they walked in.

Sami approached the desk, and addressed the old woman in French,  _< Good evening, madame. I was told we could find lodging here? We need a room for one night s’il vous plait, for myself and my friend.>_ He nodded over his shoulder at Charlie, who was absently looking about at the decorations of the lobby as he waited for them fo finish this conversation he couldn’t understand.

She regarded him with narrowed eyes from behind her spectacles, and then recognition seemed to dawn and she beamed widely.

 _ <Of course, of course! I have two beds in a room just down that hall and to the left. Room Number Five.>_ She pointed down the corridor to Sami’s right, and handed him a little key. _ <Lavatory if you need it is down the other hall to my right. The fire in the room is already lit, so it will be nice and warm!>_

 _ <Merci madame, you are much too kind.>_ Sami said with an incline of his head and a gracious smile. He began searching his pockets for his share of money.  _< How much do we owe you as a fee?>_

 _ <Nonsense!>_ She waved the question aside with a huff. _ <Your money is no good here, monsieur. The room is on the house!>_ 

 _ <Oh no, that is too much madame, you have a business to run! Please, allow us to repay you!>_ Sami insisted, shaking his head in protest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Charlie had paused in his perusal of art, and was observing this change in the pitch of conversation intently.

The old woman simply chuckled and waved Sami off again. “Rien n'est trop pour les héros comme vous!”

Sami could feel his cheeks reddening, and he inclined his head in deference and gratitude.

“Merci madame, merci beaucoup.” He smiled at her once more, then turned back to Charlie, who was now admiring a painting of flowers on the far wall. “C’mon, our room is this way.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway and walked towards it, waiting there for Charlie to cross the lobby and catch up.

“Thank you m’am,” Charlie said quietly, inclining his head with a polite touch of his cap as he passed the desk. The innkeeper beamed at him and nodded in return, and went happily back to her bookkeeping.

“So,” Charlie said in hushed tones as they fell into step down the lamplit hall, “what was that little moment of tension ‘bout, there at the end?”

“She refused to let me pay for the room,” Sami replied, bemused.

“What?” Charlie’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment, “Why?”

“She said ‘Nothing is too much for heroes like yourselves!’” Sami chuckled, shaking his head. “She is the second villager tonight to call us that - the barkeep at the cafe was doing it too. I tell you, if we lived here, I don’t think we would ever have to spend another penny in our lives!” He nudged Charlie with his elbow, grinning.

“Are we, though?” Charlie mused, staring off pensively with little of Sami’s good humour. “Heroes, I mean? Do we really deserve that?”  He sounded uneasy, as if the title didn’t rest comfortably upon his shoulders; Sami realized then that when he said ‘we’, Charlie was really talking about himself.

He reached up with his free hand to pat Charlie’s back consolingly, smiling gently at him, “I do not think that is for us to decide, mon ami. We are to them what they want us to be - so tonight we shall be heroes, if that is what they wish.”

This still didn’t look like it sat well with Charlie, who grimaced faintly, but he nodded nonetheless, conceding the debate.

Sami caught him by the elbow, bringing him to a halt in front of the room marked with a brass-plated  _5_  when he nearly passed it by.

“This is us.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to gesture with a flourishing bow for Charlie to go ahead, “Dopo di te, signore.”

Charlie chuckled and shook his head in amusement, pensive mood vanishing, and lead the way into the little room. It was papered in a similar dark green fashion as the lobby; there were two single beds standing parallel to the door with heads against the wall, a small grated fireplace radiating heat from the wall opposite, and a kerosene lamp burning on a washbasin table between the beds - again, no windows.

 _Cozy,_  Sami thought, and then,  _charming, even._  It wasn’t a bedroll on the ground, so that was already a step up from the night before, in any case. Charlie wordlessly selected the bed nearest the door to lay his jacket and cloak upon.

Sami shut the door behind him, pocketing the key, and made his way around to what would be his own bed. He laid his coats upon the foot of it and sat down on the edge to start unlacing his boots, absolutely ready to be rid of some layers after two days of walking, fighting and sleeping in them.

When he glanced up at the squealing of bedsprings, he saw that Charlie had flopped backwards across his own bed and was grinning upside-down at him, cap pushed rakishly askew over one eye by the mattress.

Sami’s heart did a little flip in his chest at the sight - oh, how he had dearly missed the cheerful, silly side of Charlie which had reappeared tonight, after drowning under the drink for so long. Sami hoped fervently that tonight’s events marked a permanent change for him - that this was not a one-off fluke of sobriety to be swiftly followed with more years lost in the drunken haze. It certainly felt like a turning point, the dawning of a new chapter; like things could be better from here on out. Sami wanted more than anything for that to be true, for both their sakes.

“So, is it just me,” Charlie drawled, oblivious to Sami’s thoughts, “or was this the strangest fuckin’ day of  _your_  entire godforsaken life, too?”

Sami chuckled, setting his boots aside and sitting up to take off his suit jacket and fez and put them with the coats.

“Today has certainly been... unusual.” he said with a quirk of his lips, and began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

Charlie snorted. “Ya, that’ll be the understatement of the bloody  _year_.” He heaved himself back upright with a faint groan, hat tumbling off, and shrugged out of his sweater. He bent over and started unlacing his boots, head down and his back to Sami. “I mean, just what in the hell did we even  _see_  out there today?”

Sami paused halfway through shuffling off his vest, and thought of hearing Charlie sing and play for the first time in years, of seeing him joyful again. With his eyes tracing the curve of Charlie’s spine in the shadows he murmured, “A miracle, perhaps.”

Charlie scoffed. “And since when did  _you_  start believing in those?” He slipped out of his boots and turned to swing both feet up onto the bed, shooting Sami a sidelong sceptical look as he started on the buttons of his own bright blue waistcoat.

Sami thought then of Diana - smashing down the church tower, deflecting bullets without so much as blinking, marching into No Man’s Land alone on the sheer strength of her will and convictions.

“I don’t think it really matters much what _I_ believe,” he said softly.

Charlie, never much of a philosopher, only hummed noncommittally by way of an answer, taking a moment to set his waistcoat and cap at the foot of the bed with the rest of his discarded layers. He unwound the mud-dusted cloth wrappings from around his shins, dropping them by his boots, and took his socks and Sami’s to hang to dry by the fire, for which Sami murmured his thanks.

Sami took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to inspect the blankets on his bed - they seemed plenty warm enough, and the room was well-heated, meaning he definitely wouldn’t need his layers of clothes to sleep in. He removed his suspenders and started unbuttoning his restricting dress shirt, glad for the chance to have it off.

“Well,” Charlie said, dropping back onto his bed and starting on the top button of his own shirt, staring ahead at the far wall, “tomorrow’s day three, which means our paid time is up. You gonna be stickin’ around for the rest of this fools’ crusade?” He glanced sidelong at Sami with a smirk, hands still working open his shirt and one brow quirked; Sami made the mistake of meeting his gaze in the warm low light and quickly re-averted his eyes, steadfastly ignoring the jolt of attraction in his gut.  _Get a grip, Sameer. This is nothing new. Come on._

“I am strongly considering it,” he said, focusing determinedly down at his own buttons, “at the very least to try and ensure Steve doesn’t go getting himself killed.” He unfastened his cuffs and slid the shirt off to place with his other clothes, tugging the sleeves of his undershirt down to his wrists. He glanced up at Charlie, who was staring deep and unseeing into the fire, hands stilled upon the last button of his shirt. “What about you?”

“Dunno,” Charlie murmured absently, “not sure I’d be much use, if I stayed on. Not sure anyone really needs me to.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, shoulders slumping, and in the shadows of the lamp and the fire he now looked impossibly tired, lighthearted energy gone.

_All his talk of shooting, and yet he cannot shoot._

_Not everyone gets to be what they want to be all the time._

Sami’s heart ached.

So he stood, bare feet on the chilly wood floor, and stepped over to the side of Charlie’s bed. Leaning down, he gently reached out and laid a hand upon his friend’s shoulder. Charlie turned to gaze up with lost, anguished eyes, and Sami smiled back at him in reassurance.

“For what it’s worth,” he said warmly, earnestly, “I am happy you are here, Charlie. And I think that tomorrow morning you should choose what feels right to you, whatever that entails. I cannot speak for the others, but...” he glanced down, then back to Charlie, squeezing his shoulder, “I know that there is so much more to you than just your shooting skills, my friend. And I would be very glad to have you with us, if you stayed.”

Charlie tore his gaze away to stare into the fire, blinking rapidly to fight back tears welling in his eyes. There was a long moment of silence and then, a little awkwardly, he reached up to pat Sami’s hand where it rested on his shoulder, covering it with his own.

“Thanks,” he murmured hoarsely, nodding. He turned to Sami with a tremulous but genuine smile. “Truly. That means... it means a lot.” His eyes were watering again, but this time he did not look away.

Sami nodded, smiling in return with a prickling feeling in his own eyes, and squeezed Charlie’s shoulder once more before forcing himself to pull his hand away. He turned back to his own bed and folded down the edge of the blankets, climbing in.

Charlie finished unbuttoning his shirt and discarded it to the foot of his bed, flopping back onto the pillow with a contented sigh. He cut quite a figure, sprawled there with only the kilt and a sleeveless undershirt covering his skinny frame, pale gangly limbs sticking out in nearly as many directions as his messy tuft of orange hair.

The sight should’ve been ridiculous - in fact it  _was_  ridiculous - and yet still Sami found himself desperately yearning to climb into that other bed, to do all manner of things to and with and for Charlie. To touch him and hold him close and  _show_  him just how much he was wanted; to tell him just how much he was loved.

Instead, Sami laid back upon his own pillows, laced his fingers tightly across his chest, and reviewed in his head the list that reminded him why he shouldn’t, couldn’t ever do any of those things. After all of tonight’s slip-ups and near mistakes, he clearly needed reminding.

_Reasons not to tell him:_

  1. _He is your best friend,_
  2. _so it wouldn’t be proper,_
  3. _and you will surely hurt him_
  4. _(lord knows he has suffered so much already),_
  5. _and it will surely hurt the both of you_
  6. _(you have both suffered enough for several lifetimes);_
  7. _and it will tear apart the meagre lives you have stitched together,_
  8. _it will ruin everything,_
  9. _and then you will lose him in the end,_
  10. _and have to live on knowing that it was your own damn fault._



Well, there was that settled. Sami regarded the ceiling and sighed. That was that.

“So,” Charlie said abruptly, drawing Sami’s eyes to him. He had both hands tucked behind his head and the lighthearted grin had returned to his face, completely unaware of what had transpired in the silence he interrupted. “What’d you think of my singing?”

“What do you mean?” Sami said curiously, propping himself up on both elbows to better regard Charlie, who had now rolled over on his side to face him and pillowed his head upon one arm.

“Well it’s been quite a long while since I’ve done it - how rusty did the ol’ pipes sound? And don’t worry about shelterin’ my vanity,” he waved a dismissive hand, “I want an honest opinion, what’d ya think?”

Sami rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes, pretending to think very, very deeply about the question. He wanted to be honest, but he also didn’t want Charlie to know the truth, how he really felt. He lit upon a solution, and smiled.

“Fue encantador.” He gestured dramatically for emphasis, waving his hand as if painting the words across the air, and grinned at the furrow appearing in Charlie’s brow. “Para mí, fue el sonido más dulce que había escuchado en mucho tiempo. Fue tan maravilloso como lo eres para mí, y me dio esperanza nuevamente.” He smile patiently at Charlie, awaiting his response.

“Uh-huh....” Charlie said slowly, nodding expectantly but without comprehension, “and that’s.... good, right? Uh, bueno?”

Sami chuckled, “Yes, you could certainly say that, Charlie. It was good.”

“Ah. Okay.” Charlie began rolling over onto his back, then suddenly turned back to fix Sami with a wary look. “You’re not pullin’ my leg, are you? Whatever you just said, that really was a compliment, not some Spanish joke I’ve walked blindly into?”

Sami smiled at him. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He said with exaggerated seriousness and drew the shape of an x on his chest with one finger. “It was good, Charlie, really. I was glad to hear you sing.” It was half the truth, and that was as close as he could allow himself to get.

“Alright,” Charlie snickered, “no need to hope for death, I buy it. I believe ya.” He stifled a heavy yawn, and Sami was reminded suddenly of how little Charlie had slept the night before, and how late the hour was.

“Would you like me to get the lamp?” he asked quietly, sitting up.

“Oh, yes please,” Charlie said as he rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the blankets up to his chin, another yawn tagging along at the end of the sentence.

Sami reached over to the little table between the beds, and turned down the wick in the lamp until it snuffed itself out. The room was plunged into a much deeper darkness, lit only by the slight glow of the fire through its grate. Sami laid down and rolled over to face away from Charlie, tucking himself in under the blankets; soon he could feel sleep starting to ebb at the edges of his mind, slowly drawing him in.

“Sameer?” came the hesitant question out of the shadows, moments later.

“Yes, Charlie?” Sami replied, now fully awake once more.

“Thank you,” Charlie sounded a little choked up, and he swallowed audibly before continuing. “For what you did in the square. For pullin’ me outta the way, and... for lookin’ after me. You... well, you saved my life. So... thanks. For takin’ care of me.”

Sami rolled over now and sat up a little to try and look at him, but he could only make out a vague shape in the light from the little fireplace, no distinguishing features. He laid back down and stared up at the faint shadows dancing on the ceiling instead.

He weighed the truths he could tell in return, such as  _‘I will always take care of you’,_  or  _‘I just don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you’,_  or the closely related  _‘I love you so much that it scares me sometimes’._

He settled on an easier truth, one he could speak without fear, and said softly into the darkness, “You would have done the same for me.”

“Yeah...” Charlie murmured, and it sounded as if he might be smiling, “yeah, I would.” Bedsprings creaked as he rolled over again, and he yawned, “G’night Sami.”

Sami shifted back onto his side, gazing across the space at Charlie’s silhouette in the other bed and wishing the distance between them could be smaller, even just a little bit.

 _Half-rations,_  he thought, a reminder and an order to himself.  _Take this, just this, only this. This will be enough. It’s enough._

“Goodnight Charlie,” he murmured, and slipped into an exhausted sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> translation of Sami's Spanish compliment: "It was enchanting. For me, it was the sweetest sound I had heard in a long time. It was as wonderful as you are to me, and it gave me hope again."
> 
> ~
> 
> me, before writing this fic: "omg i _love_ how detailed their costumes are and how many unique pieces each one has!!!"  
>  me, after writing this fic: "absolutely NOBODY has a right to wear that many fucking layers, holy shit"
> 
> also me: *unilaterally decides that Charlie absolutely talks about Scotland the same way Chekov talks about Russia*
> 
> I wanted to give this a romantic resolution, but in the end it didn't end up feeling right for the overall mood and its place in the movie, so I hope you enjoyed 6000+ words of pining and banter instead!!
> 
> if you're one of the few who wish to read more of this ship, check out the tag, and for goodness sake please let me know you care so I'll be even more driven to finish my massive list of WIP's (I finally counted, there are thirteen, I have THIRTEEN fics going about these two including The Big Fic, fml)
> 
> I can be found further yelling into the void on tumblr and twitter under this same user handle


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